An Obsession With Treasure
by Luinecu
Summary: Nine year old William Turner is having a hard time. When his simple life changes for the worst, does it prove to be all too much for young Will?
1. A blacksmith's life for me

Author's Notes: Hope you like this fic, it's taking a long time to write, but it's getting there. It's a fun one to write, depressing at bits, but fun. I'm really enjoying writing it, so you can expect more chapters soon. Review and I'll love you forever :)  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the potc characters. What I do own is this cookie, which I will happily trade, do we have a deal, savvy?  
  
Chapter one: A blacksmith's life for me.  
  
The young boy rolled over on the straw bale that served as his bed. His eyes were wide and restless, bloodshot from lack of sleep. The moon's eerie beams crept through the battered wooden shutters, allowing just enough light to see. He looked around the room, watching the shadows with slight uneasiness. Another slept against the wall across the room. He watched his sleeping mother for a moment, curled up in her bed, breathing slowly, peacefully, it was a comfort to know she was there. Will rolled over as quietly as he could, as not to wake her, trying to get comfortable on the itchy surface. Attempting to clear his brimmed mind, he tugged at the ruffled hair at his ears.  
  
It haunted him. The grinning skull surrounded by a language he did not understand. Ancient and beautiful, it drew him to it by some unexplainable means, like a moth to a flame. 'Just one more peak, to check it's still there' he thought, the image playing on his mind. Will groped at the leather strand at his neck, following it down with his clammy fingers to the warm metal disk that hung there. With trembling fingers he traced the imprinted image with his fingers. Slowly, he drifted off to a dreamless sleep, as dawn peeked, pinking the horizon.  
  
The sound of church bells awoke the boy with a jolt. He sat up and stretched. His mother had already got up, and he could hear her shuffling in the living area through the thin walls. Will dropped his feet onto the cold drafty floor. Something was wrong. He paused, but his head was too full of sleep to think. Suddenly, he realized the lack of the heavy weight about his neck. Will shot up, scrambling at the bale of hay. Where's it gone? Straw was flung in all directions as he bolted around in panic. He threw the papers from the table, and the bedclothes off the bales. His search was in vain, and he collapsed sobbing on the rough wooden floor. As he threw his hands to the ground, he heard the distinct clunk of metal to wood. Slowly he raised his left hand. The medallion was in his clenched fist. Carefully, he stretched out the fingers, and took the precious disk into his other hand. The round edge imprinted into his palm where he had held it throughout the night. He rubbed sleep and tears from his eyes on his sleeve, wobbling slightly as he got to his feet.  
  
Light footsteps, muffled by leather slippers passed in the hallway by his door. "Will, come on lad! No time to waist, your work's awaiting." A young, yet weathered face appeared around the door. His mother smiled at him. As her gaze lowered her face angered. "William Turner! What is the meaning of this mess!? Do you know how hard I have to work to keep this roof over our heads? I don't have time to deal with your antics. And your not even dressed yet, Come on now, don't just stand there, MOVE!"  
  
Will opened his mouth to shout out a jumbled story of how it wasn't his fault, but was cut short, by another angry burst.  
  
"And I suppose you're going to trail off that pirates came in and did this are you?" She said with a scowl, used to his ever more tall tales that he had invented over the years. "You're going to have to grow up, you are not little anymore, and these lies are getting you nowhere. So this time you can cut out all that, and just get on and get dressed. If you don't sharpen up, I'll have the belt across you. I may be your mother lad, but as times are, I'm having to be your father too, so you'll do as I say."  
  
Will knew all to well of his mother's beatings. She rarely did hit him, and it pained her to see her only child upset. But when she did, the bruises would last a month, and be in such places as one could not sit down for at least a fortnight. So Will swallowed his pride, and nodded "Sorry Mother."  
  
William Turner was a poor nine year old boy, who lived with his mother, Catherine Turner, in the rented upstairs rooms of a carpenter's shop. His father he could barely remember, as he had rarely returned home from sea when Will was young. Since Will was four, he had not been back to England to see them. The last they heard, was two weeks ago. They had received a package with enough shillings for a year's rent, and a short grubby letter. Stuffed in the brown paper wrapping, addressed clearly to William was the medallion, wrapped in a scrap of cloth and hung from a leather lace. This was what Will held so close. He never let it out of his sight, and rarely took it off. He would fight bitterly with anyone who hoped to take it from him, and had quickly built up a reputation with the local children. This obsession with the gold scared his mother. She would not loose Will, not to that way of life, the condemned life of a pirate. Bill had offered of cause, to take him away, train him up. "Would make a good one" he had said in his letter, "I have friends; they'd make a scallywag out of him in no time."  
  
Catherine did what she could to protect her son, and avoided at all cost any convocation Will brought up on his father. This was partly out of her pain, and partly because she feared that if he knew, Will would just as easily run away to find him. If she hid the reality, she kept the thoughts out of his head and so, protected him. This, if anything, irritated Will, because he, in his mother's opinion was too curious for his own good.  
  
Ten minuets later, out of the house, and dressed in his work clothes, Will bolted down the street, reaching the marketplace in record time. He dodged between the stalls and yelling people, scooting under their legs avoiding being hit by flying arms and umbrellas. He dashed over the smooth worn cobbles of the main street, running up to the shabby blacksmiths shop that squatted between the bakers and the grocers. He skidded to a halt, grabbing the doorframe and sliding on the tiles.  
  
He gingerly lifted the wooden latch, and swung open the heavy door.  
  
"Will? That you?" called a rough voice inside. "Get in 'ere boy, now, you're late"  
  
Will sheepishly stepped inside, and was greeted by the leathery slap of a blacksmith's hand across his ears. "S-s-sorry" he stuttered, lowering his head, and running his fingers up the stinging flesh.  
  
"Too right boy, you're a whole five minuets late. We've got work to do, there's a huge order of various 'inges and whatnot we need to fill" The blacksmith said, busying himself with a roll of parchment where the order was written.  
  
"For what?" Will questioned. He bit his tongue before saying anything else, the last thing he wanted was another slap for being cheeky and a list of jobs as long as the road to do.  
  
"A new ship...The Herrin'... or was it somethin' else?" The man shrugged "As long as I get me payment, I don't care what 'ey use 'em for." He grunted, chucking the paper onto the antique table.  
  
William felt a grin spread across his face. A ship. Will loved ships, the sea, and stories about pirates. More then once he had set out to stow away, but only ever got as far as the dock before getting butterflies and turning back home. If only he could be out on the water, a cabin boy perhaps, rather than a blacksmith's apprentice here on land.  
  
Around lunchtime, Will was glumly handing tools to the blacksmith as he asked for them, turning away his head to avoid the flying sparks. He wasn't paying attention, his thoughts wandering as he listened to the people in the street outside, chattering loudly as they went about their daily chores. He began daydreaming of the sound of the sea, and the waves, of pirates and battles. He was the brave Captain William Turner, one of the most fearsome pirates in the Spanish Main. A crash of cracking wood, screams, and yells startled him back to reality. Something had happened just a little way along the street. Will dropped the hammer he had been holding and sprinted across the room to the window. He then thought better then to open it, looking back at the blacksmith. Mr. Black stood up fully, and walked over the shuttered window, throwing it open, and craning his short neck to look outside.  
  
Outside, a pair of chestnut horses were sprawled on the cobbled road, tangled in the leather bonds that secured their bodies to the overturned carriage. The carriage was turned on its side, the top wheels still spinning. The passengers inside were already being helped to escape through the one unblocked door and the driver was being seen to by a woman in a green dress, who was franticly trying to stop the bleeding to his head with a handkerchief. Red-coated guards were attempting to free the body of a young woman, trapped under the mess, her leg crushed below the carriage. A large crowd had already gathered around, shaking their heads, and muttering.  
  
"What's happened?" Asked Will at his elbow.  
  
"A carriage's overturned," Black replied, pulling his head back in and closing the shutters.  
  
"Anyone hurt? Could you see who it was?"  
  
The man shrugged, and walked over to the metal he had been working on, rolling up his sleeves. "Back to work lad. Pass me tha' hammer."  
  
Will reluctantly walked back to the table, biting his bottom lip. 'How can you be so heartless?' He wanted to scream, 'Someone could be hurt out there!' He took the hammer, and shoved it, a little more violently then he had meant to, into Black's waiting hand. 


	2. Too much to bare

Author's Notes: Another chapter, aren't you all lucky! This one's a little sad, please don't cry! I hope I wrote it well enough, it's just so hard to get my thoughts down on paper. Review, or be fed to Jarvis the purple pig! (uhh.. inside joke, sorry!)  
  
Chapter 2: Too much to bare.  
  
By the time Will left the shop that night, it was already dark, and he ached all over. He walked quickly down the road, afraid of the black deserted streets. The carriage had been cleared away, and the horses returned to their stable, no evidence lay of what had happened earlier that day. The market looked different in the absence of daylight, the empty stalls loomed overhead, creating shadows on the rough walls. Will quickened his pace, reminding himself there was nothing to be scared of. Safely through the marketplace, he arrived outside his home, free from harm, and rested at outdoor stairs for breath. He scaled them, two at a time, and reached the door at the top, placing his hand on the latch. He paused, carefully balancing on the narrow top step. From inside, he could hear voices. A male voice was speaking, though Will could not make out what was being said. A mournful sobbing reached his ears, and he opened the door.  
  
The room was filled with the dim flickering glow of candles, and he stared for a second, trying to make out the faces. The three adults looked across the room at him. Will walked inside a little, out of the cold. One face belonged to Doctor Morris, watery blue eyes framed by spectacles, and graying hair thin on his scalp. Behind, sat on the wooden bench, was his aunt, her face crimson and stained with salty tears, sandy locks of curled hair limp at her neck. Comforting her was her husband, Robert, his loving arms folded around her thin frame, whispering to her in a soothing manner. The doctor spoke first, clearing his throat to cut through the horrible cries. "I'm afraid there has been an accident William," He said gravely, motioning for Will to come forward.  
  
Will stayed where he was, allowing the door to swing closed behind him, the latch snapping shut with a loud click. "Yes..." He heard himself say, knowing full well what the doctor's next words would be.  
  
"Your mother was badly hurt Will, and ..."  
  
Will stared in disbelief, though the words were not strange to him. He looked at the face of the aging doctor, and saw with horror, the sympathy and regret that his expression held. His eyes welled up with tears, blurring his vision.  
  
"She died William, your mother passed away not ten minuets ago." Doctor Morris shook his head, ringing his hands together, "It was a peaceful death," he added, as if it made everything okay.  
  
Will felt his stomach turn over with a horrible jolt. He fell to the floor, knees painfully hitting the floorboards, throwing his head into red blistered hands. He sobbed, choking pain rising in his throat , his eyes stinging behind the pupils. Robert stood, taking his arm from his wife's shoulder, "I'm sorry." Footsteps rattled the rough floor. Will felt a strong arm slip around him, and a clothed chest pressed against his side. He clung to the man's shirt, and wept pitifully into the material. "She's gone isn't she? I'll never see her again," Will cried between gasps of stale air. The man shifted uneasily, and patted the boy on the arm. "Catherine...Your mother, she was a good woman, you'll see her again, one day."  
  
It was a long night, though Will could hardly remember it afterwards. After Doctor Morris left, he was taken home with his Aunt Amy and Robert, where he was given a bed in the corner of their small home. That night, after all that happened, sleep did not come, and he spent what little of the night was left, soaking the sheets with tears of sea water. He felt like the world had come to an end, and just wanted to curl up and die in the mists of the overwhelming pain that cursed his heart. Nothing had ever hurt so much, Will thought he would never be happy again, and curled up hopelessly in the thin sheets. When dawn arrived, Will was not anywhere to be found.  
  
In the first lights, Will had wandered alone to the beach. He sat alongside the waves, the medallion clasped in his fist. No more tears now came to his eyes, and his heart sat grieving in his chest. He was an empty shell, his soul lost in his misery, angry at his own feelings. "Just swallow me!" He yelled to the waves, "Take me now, and let me down, let me die... please." His voice croaked, horse from crying. But the water only lapped sympathetically at his bare feet, leaving them cold and blue. He turned and got up, dragging himself step by step back to the town. He didn't have anywhere else to go but back.  
  
A week later, Will stomped up the same old street where the accident happened. Robert had been keen on him going back to work as soon as possible, though his aunt had argued against it. Will hated being there, and remembering, he hated walking past his old home, and thinking of his mother, he just wanted to forget. He had to get away. But no ideas came to his young mind, and he just kept on going, having no choice.  
  
He arrived 'home' at mid-day, greeted at the door by Amy, with a wobbly smile on her face. She had been crying again, Will noticed her bloodshot eyes. He sat at the table on a rickety stool. She crossed the room to him, and as she approached, clumsily dropped the mug of water in her hand, and apologized quickly. "Sorry dear, I'll get you another now,"  
  
"It's alright, I'm not thirsty," he insisted, though his mouth was dry.  
  
They were very close, his mother and Amy. She was still hurting, and so was Will. He wanted to help her, give her a hug and tell her it would be over soon, and it would stop stinging. But he knew it wouldn't, and his own pain prevented him from getting close to her. He didn't want to trust anyone, love again.  
  
Amy rounded the corner, into the small area where they did the cooking. He could hear her heave a soft sob, before returning to the room where he sat, and passing him the drink he had already refused. He smiled, and took the drink from her trembling hands, "Thankyou."  
  
She sat beside him, and said in a quivering voice, "William, you have your mother's eyes you know..." She allowed tears to stream down her face. Will watched her bewildered, maybe she had finally cracked. Amy went on, "But if you aren't the spit of your father, THAT man just got up any left your poor mother, off gallivanting to the Caribbean of all places! Two days before you were born. I told her not to marry a sailor, nothing but trouble them lot, bet she insisted, said she trusted him!" She explained, a slight angry tone to her voice.  
  
Will felt a hot rage race up his face, though he didn't know quite why. After all, what she said was true, wasn't it? Was it his father or aunt he was angry with?  
  
He pondered over these thoughts that night. The Caribbean... Will hardly knew where that was, never mind how to get there. It was stupid of him to think how he could reach his father. He would stay in England and become blacksmith, not go running after some man he could not even remember. He looked down at the medallion in his palm, and longed for the sea. His mind said one thing and his heart another. Will felt himself torn between.  
  
When sleep locked his mind, he dreamt of the sea, and sailing onboard The Herring, away from England, from the memory of his mother, and everything that reminded him of her. When he woke up, he was surprised to find it had been a dream, and cursed bitterly. If only it had been real.  
  
It was a Sunday, and after church he could go and do as he pleased. Will was relieved to leave the cold echoing church after what seemed like hours, and wandered down to the docks to watch the ships that were tied in the harbor. The place was deserted, nobody there to shoo him away like usual. The newly painted ship nearest caught his eye. Will looked up at the grand vessel, so this was the Herring. It was a stunning ship, every detail taken to the utter most care, and the whole thing beautifully polished, so its wood sparkled in the spring sunshine. The goods it was to take across the ocean were already loaded onboard. Will had heard the ship was to leave first thing tomorrow morning, he longed to go. Standing at the edge of the dock, he could just touch its smooth sides if he leaned close.  
  
Curling his toes over the edge of the plank, he leaned forward with utter- most care, stretching his fingers as far as they would go. It was useless, a good ten inches off. With a sigh he turned away from the ship, good mood plummeting. Just one little touch, it wouldn't do any harm...  
  
Will clambered up the ramp that led onboard, and gazed around the deck. He ran his fingers over the wood, the faultless carving smooth under his fingertips. 'It would be so easy' he thought, 'Just to stow away and never return. I could live on the sea, like dad' He smiled, and dared himself to touch the wheel, be the captain of the ship, just for a second. Stood on the platform, it looked a lot bigger the he had imagined. He reached out, and touched one handle, quickly removing his hand as if it was red hot. Then he clasped two, one in each hand, careful not to move them, "Swab the decks!" he called the invisible crew, "Man the sails!" He laughed at his game, and instantly and unwillingly fell in love with the ship. He had to follow her. So he decided there and then.  
  
No turning back this time, he had a plan. Will raided the food supply of all he could fit in his pockets. It would be hard, he knew. He would have to stay hidden for at least a few days, otherwise they would just throw him back on shore. He wandered the ship all over, making sure he could not be seen from the dock, where a pair of red-coats now kept watch as the sky grew dark. Will made sure he knew the ship back to front, before curling up in his hiding place for the night. 


	3. Shark's dinner?

Author's Notes: Poor Will's been having a bit of bad luck huh? Well, I decided to cut him some slack for a while... even if he does grow up to be an annoying little *cough* who has really bad taste in hats. Wasn't that feather just gross?! Thanks to my reviewers, you wonderful people make all the hours I spend typing worthwhile :)  
  
Chapter 3: Shark's dinner?  
  
Will quickly lost track of time. On the first day, The Herring set off as planned, at what he could only guess was dawn. He could hear the sailors walking above him, and their calls across the deck. The sea was calm enough, but Will still found himself battered against the wall as the ship moved over the waves. He spent much of his time sleeping, or daydreaming, as there was nothing else to do. Will could hardly move in his tiny hiding space, only just about turn over every now and again. He couldn't afford to make much noise, which caused a problem when trying to munch on the crackers he had 'borrowed'. Sitting, curled up, and clutching the medallion, he managed to stay comfy enough. It was hard rationing the little food he had, but Will knew he had to make it last if he was going to survive several days trapped there. Water was a huge problem, as he had not thought to bring any extra. Four green apples he had stashed away, were the only things that would quench his growing thirst, as the crackers he had only dried out his mouth further. The crew seemed oblivious to the extra body onboard, and did not see or hear Will.  
  
It was another three or so days before Will dared come out of his hiding place. He desperately needed water, and all the food he had taken before was finished. Will waited till he could no longer hear the crew bustling around the ship, and guessed it was dark. He edged out of the small space where he had been living for three days, and on aching limbs, got slowly to his feet. A stiff cramp edged up his legs and neck, and he winced at the sudden pain. He took a minuet to shake out the horrendous pins-and-needles in his feet, hopping from one to another. He then left quietly through the door, closing it again behind him. Will looked around the corner, the thin corridor was deserted, dimly lit by candles in holders. He rushed through, making sure his wood-soled shoes made as little noise as possible on the squeaky boards. A set of rough steps lead up to the deck, he crept up them, and out onto the vast deck. At first, there didn't seem to be anyone there, and he almost turned to go back down, when his adjusted eyes caught the silhouette of a man at the helm.  
  
Will look a deep breath of the sea air, and approached the man with caution. "H...h...hello?" he stuttered, his voice horse from lack of water.  
  
The man jumped, "What in the blazes!?" he cried in alarm, jumping back. His ice blue, startled eyes fell on Will, and in a blink, changed their tone, "How'd you get ere lad?" He asked with anger in his gruff voice. The man was dressed in a sailor's uniform which was slightly too small for him, as he was a big man. He towered over Will, and set down an incensed stare at the boy.  
  
"I... I've been onboard since you left port sir, I mean no harm," Will admitted, bowing his head under the powerful stare.  
  
"Is that so? A stow away eh? How'd you like to be dropped right off the side of the boat boy? You're not welcome to be sharing our voyage."  
  
Will looked up, his face a mingled spread of fear and alarm. "Th...throw me in the water? Oh no sir! Not that! I'd work, I would, I'm a good worker, honest!"  
  
"I'm sure the sharks wouldn't want to be denied their dinner, don't worry, being the scrawny thing you are, they'll gobble you in one!" said the man with a sly grin.  
  
Will shuddered, shark food?  
  
Another yelled across the ship at them, "Oy! Johno! Your shift's over!" The owner of the voice dashed over. He was a young man, maybe in his early twenties from what Will could see. His blond hair was collected back in a messy tail, and his floppy hat drooped lopsided on his head. As he came nearer, his eyebrow raised in surprise.  
  
"Who are you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes as if to try and remember if he had seen the boy before.  
  
"William Sir, William Turner."  
  
"Were you here before? How did you...?" the man looked confused.  
  
'Johno' interrupted, "Stow away Greg, mangy little rat."  
  
"I see..." Greg peered at him, leaning down to get a better look. "Suppose we could use a cabin-boy, eh?"  
  
Will's heart leapt, this is what he had hoped for. He waited with anxiety for the other's response.  
  
The elder looked at his little brother and rolled his eyes, "I ain't having any thieving little mites on my ship." He argued.  
  
"Our ship, you may be the captain, but it's mine too remember," pouted Greg, "If I remember rightly, it was my idea on how..."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Look, do as you might, I'm off to get some shut eye. Night..." Captain John Taro turned and trudged across the deck, towards the steps that lead down to the cabins.  
  
Greg looked down at Will, "Guess you're the new cabin-boy William."  
  
Will stared in disbelief, as simple as that? He was now part of the Herring's loyal crew. The first part of his new life at sea. Will could not help grinning up at the man, "Thankyou, Thankyou so much!"  
  
That night was particularly more pleasant then those spent in the small cramped space where he had hidden. The sturdy green hammock Will laid in swung gently with the ship's movement on the rolling waves, and the wood creaked all around. The room was buzzing with snores, but the noise didn't bother him, Robert had snored quite loudly, so he was getting used to it. Will looked up at the hammock above his own, and smiled, warm and happy at last, snuggled under a woolen blanket. He asked himself questions as he drifted off to sleep, wondering what the crew would be like, whether or not he would have to swab the deck, and if there would be eggs in the morning.  
  
His mother did not haunt his dreams that night. Instead, he saw his father's face for the first time in years, crying and smiling.  
  
Will awoke to an early start, and tugged his jacket over what he was already wearing, he had no change of clothes, so had to make do. He slipped his worn shoes over his feet, then thought better of it, and took them off again. It would be hard not to slip in shoes.  
  
He made his way on deck, and he stared around, looking for one of the two familiar faces. The rest of the crew were already hard at work, adjusting the rigging, collecting mops and buckets and a number of other jobs. Will rubbed his arms that were riddled with goosebumps from the cold, hoping the British weather would soon warm. He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and turned to face Greg.  
  
"Hello there young William," said the man with a grin, "I had a... um... chat with Johno, I mean Captain Taro, and the situation is this..."  
  
Will looked up, his smile falling, this was it, he was going to be thrown to the fishes anyway.  
  
Greg saw his concern, and gave him a reassuring wink, "You see lad, my brother is not too keen on you getting in the way like, and he don't want to be bothered ordering round a whelp like yourself," he chuckled, remembering his brother's words, "So he put you under my charge for the trip. You'll be my own personal little helper, alright?"  
  
Will could feel his grin almost touch his ears as he heard the news. This was going to be a lot better then he first thought, he would much rather be under the charge of Greg Taro, then the stern and strict Captain. "I would happily be your... uhh... little helper sir!" He managed to splutter out.  
  
"Right, first off, you'll be helping me to keep watch, those young sharp eyes of yours will be bound to come in useful. Up to the crow's nest then."  
  
It was a hard and tiring job, climbing up the slippery ropes, but Will was well practiced, after climbing many a tree back home. The wind was very strong up there, and once or twice Will found himself almost being blown right off. But he felt so free, and alive. He felt as if he could just sprout wings and fly out on the powerful winds like a bird. Eventually, he clambered into the giant round wooden platform that hovered above the white sails. He could see so far from up there, miles of frothing gray waves. To his right, came the face of Greg, just peaking over the wooden edge. "I hate it up here," admitted the young man, clambering up next to Will.  
  
Will returned the comment with a grin, "It's wonderful," he murmured, not sure if Greg heard him.  
  
"Well, that is if you don't mind the heights eh?" said Greg with a wobbly sort of smile. "But you just have to get used to it."  
  
Author's note: I know, bad place to stop, but I would rather get this up as it is then leave you all waiting another week for a new chapter. Please review, I'll love you forever! *puppy eyes* 


	4. A new lesson

Author's note: Thankyou all for the kind reviews! I had a really bad day today, so that definitely brightened things up finding four reviews waiting in my inbox. Sort of a fill in chapter here, I had to restrain myself from killing off someone (it really was THAT bad a day) So you guys are lucky Greg didn't 'accidentally' fall out of the crow's nest, and Will get accused of murder... Don't worry Will lad, your safe, for now. *gets an evil glare from Will* Eek! Ok, on with the chapter...  
  
Chapter 4: A new lesson.  
  
Will and Greg had now been talking for the last three hours while they watched the sea for any trouble. While Greg spoke of his life at sea, his family and adventures, Will listened intently, nodding in all the right places. Will however chose not to talk about himself, and when urged to, went quiet, refusing to utter a word. Greg didn't press matters, "So you've got history lad, that's alright, it's up to you to put it behind." That's exactly what Will decided, everything that had happened, down to every last detail, he wished to forget. He wanted to start a new, he no longer wanted to be little William Turner, he wanted to choose his own path, and turn into someone else completely.  
  
Greg was halfway through a tale of meeting a pirate captain with a metal hook for a hand when Will's stomach made a huge gurgling noise. Greg stopped abruptly, looking at Will in amusement.  
  
"When was the last time you ate William?" He asked with a grin.  
  
Will paused for a second, before admitting, "A day and a half... or there abouts."  
  
Greg raised his eyebrows, "Why didn't you say anything!?"  
  
"Um..." Will had not wanted to seem rude, after all, they had already taken him in.  
  
"Listen, I'll write ya a note, you can take that down to the kitchen and get a good meal down you, 'right?" He shuffled round the pockets of his large jacket, and eventually found a bottle of ink, a snapped quill, and a scrap of parchment. He scrawled in untidy writing,  
  
*******  
  
Cook,  
  
Please give young William Turner one of your wonderful hot meals. I would greatly appreciate it.  
  
Thankyou in advance.  
  
Signed, Greg Taro  
  
*******  
  
He blew over the fresh ink, flapping the paper to make it dry quicker, then folded it roughly. Greg popped it into Will's pocket, tapping it lightly to let him know it was there. "There you go. Now take that down to the cook, he'll understand... I hope. Don't let him refuse, the slippery bugger tries to get out of everything. But hopefully the flattery will bypass that problem... You can come back when you've eaten, we will finish off that story then eh?."  
  
Will nodded, trying to remember everything that was being said. "Yes sir!" He squeaked, getting to his feet, and shuffling to get footing on the rigging.  
  
Going down was much easier then going up, and Will found he could go down in little hops much quicker, clinging tightly on the thinner horizontal ropes with both hands. He was pleased to touch secure wood beneath his bare feet though, as the soft parts of the soles were red and painful from the long climb up and back. He took a moment to rub them, running fingers over the sore parts, the cool breeze soothing the skin. He then headed to the stairs which lead below. It was a little difficult to get down with the ship bouncing about on the waves, and Will had to clutch the banister to avoid falling as the Herring made a sudden jolt.  
  
Rounding the corner, he found the right door. He pushed it open, and poked his head inside. The room was hot and humid, the air hanging with the sickly sweet smell of over-cooked vegetables and salted meat. Taking up much of the room was a giant metal pot, big enough for Will to stand up inside, a plume of steam poured over the top. This was surrounded by bricks, enclosing a large flickering fire, which heated the bubbling mass in the 'kettle'.  
  
A large man, dressed in a grubby shirt and filthy apron looked at Will from the far wall, where he sat in a wooden chair. "Lost?" He enquired, glaring under a bush of graying eyebrows.  
  
Will stared back at him, and managed a weak smile, "Um... er... hello sir, I have um... a note from Mr. Taro." He shuffled his hand into the large pocket, and fished out the letter, passing it with a shaking hand to the gruff cook.  
  
The cook grunted, looking at it with a lack of expression. Once finished, he heaved a sigh, and with difficulty, got up from the chair. Under his arm he balanced a crutch, which he used to aid his walking. Will watched with great curiosity, as the one legged man crossed the room to the kettle. The cook looked back at Will, who's mouth now hung open, as he watched the remainder of leg, hidden under the cut trouser material.. He smirked, and wiggled the stump a little, making Will jump and loose his balance, and forcing him to cling to the chair to avoid falling over. The cook then busied himself getting a bowl and spoon for Will.  
  
Will got up and brushed himself down, embarrassed. Gingerly, he trotted up behind the cook, and watched as the great man turned open the valve at the bottom of the kettle, and let the lumpy liquid fill the bowl. He thrust this into Will's hands.  
  
Will stood there, not sure what to do next.  
  
"You'll be getting' no bread, if that's what ya waitin' for," he growled.  
  
"Pardon?" asked Will, clutching the bowl, the steam making his eyes water.  
  
"Bread, you won't be getting any more above yer rations lad."  
  
Will opened his mouth to object that he wasn't expecting that at all, but the cook had already returned to his seat. So Will just sat down at the rickety table, and gulped down the pea soup. It burnt his mouth, but his stomach stopped complaining at least. Will decided it would be best to leave as soon as possible. The cook made him uneasy, and he was anxious to get back to Greg. He set the empty bowl on the table, and called out a cheery "Thankyou!" as he left, closing the sturdy door behind him.  
  
Feeling much better then before, he retraced his path back up on deck, and found Greg waiting at the foot of the main mast. "Better?" called Greg as he approached.  
  
"Very much so, thankyou," Will replied with a smile, running to his side. "Who's keeping watch?" He asked, glancing up at the crow's nest.  
  
"Huh? Oh, that's Tim Fawk. Captain thought we were being lazy," he said with a wink. "Just because he's my big brother he thinks it's his duty to keep me as miserable as possible!" He said jokingly. "Well, at least I can give you a good lesson now."  
  
Will bit his lip, a lesson, what kind of lesson? He hoped it wasn't the kind that hurt a lot, but then sincerely thought Greg wouldn't do something like that for no reason. Will couldn't help asking all the same, "On what?"  
  
"Ahh, that's the surprise, don't want to spoil it now!" He replied with a wink. "Follow me!"  
  
Will jogged to keep up with Greg's longer strides. Once again down the steps, he turned left this time, and showed Will into a room. The room was large enough, and could have fit five or six bunks if they had been squeezed in. It was quite bare, nothing but a double bed tucked in the corner, a chest of draws, writing desk scattered with papers and a simple wooden chair.  
  
"Not much, but it serves it's purpose," said Greg behind him. He scooted around Will and crossed the room to the chest of draws. Greg stooped and slid open the bottom draw, taking out a large leather box in both hands. He placed this in the center of the room, slipping open the brass catches. Inside, laid on a folded length of cotton, were a pair of simple swords. "Theses are pretty old," explained Greg, "No use for killing, they're blunt see, but are what my brother and I learnt to fight with. I was hoping I could teach you, if you want that is."  
  
Will had been staring wide eyed at the gleaming blades, kneeling down beside the box, "Learn?" he asked in disbelief. A small memory tugged at the back of his mind...  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Will, now don't you dare play with that THING!" His mother's voice cried, referring to his father's sword. "Bill, get it out of his reach, he's much too young. Only four for god's sake, I won't have you teaching him bad habits at this age!" She looked worried, sitting across the table from them. She eyed the blade with distaste.  
  
"Aww, come on Catherine! Let the lad 'ave a look," Chuckled Bill, Will sitting on his lap. "He won't 'urt 'imself!" He tossed Will up, and handed him over to his mother, "There you go, safe an' sound."  
  
"You'd best pack for the morning," Catherine sighed, adjusting Will's weight on her lap.  
  
"Aye, but it's not for long this time, don' worry."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
He could remember the cutlass polished and set proudly on the kitchen table. It was also the last time he ever saw his father. It was just about the only memory he had of him, and Will smiled as it crossed his mind.  
  
"Sure, you need to be able to fight! We'll be entering Spanish waters soon, riddled with pirates that place!" Greg said, shaking his head.  
  
Will's smile almost touched his ears, "Wow... Can I pick one up?"  
  
"Yeah, go on, you can have the one on the left, it's lighter."  
  
Will took it in his right hand, and was surprised to feel how heavy it was, despite it being the 'lighter' of the two.  
  
"Your holding it all wrong, No... twist round your thumb a little, don't clench so much... Almost there, let me help."  
  
Will fumbled with the heavy object in his hands, then allowed Greg to guide his hand into the right position. He it was indeed much easier to hold it as he was shown, and was able to raise the blade from the ground at least.  
  
"Swords are a little better made nowadays you'll find, much less bulk to them. But it's better you learn with that great monster first."  
  
Greg took the other sword in his hand. "Now you've mastered the holding, I'll teach ya a few simple moves. How's about that?"  
  
Author's note: I even looked up what they would use to cook on a pirate ship to write this one... Next chapter coming soon! 


	5. Dinner with the captain

Author's Notes: SORRY! I know it's been over a week since I last updated. Honestly I have no excuses really. I will be going to Italy, skiing next week, but am taking my laptop with me so I can still work on my fanfics and website. I may be able to get an internet connection at my uncle's, not sure though. Thanks again guys for the reviews, I love to hear you are enjoying my story.  
  
Chapter 5: Dinner with the captain.  
  
"Right! That's the way, now you're getting it... Keep that foot in... remember, the blunt side's for blocking, don't loose control now, one... two ... three, block... turn, block."  
  
Will was a quick learner, and was soon attempting to string together the simple movements in a sequence. His brow was furrowed and he bit his tongue in concentration as he attempted to remember the move that came next. Greg's sword fell on empty air, as Will swooped round, his sword landing with a clatter on the floor. "Sorry!" Will apologized, "Block, I know." He gave a weak smile, and shifted his blade under Greg's.  
  
"No matter, you're getting it for sure now. You just need to stop thinking. Your body will remember it, just let the moves flow," Greg explained, as if it was as simple as lifting a finger.  
  
Will was still very much confused, and showed it with a bewildered look.  
  
Greg sighed, "You'll get it... I'm just really bad at explaining, that's all. Just trust me, if you don't think, and let your body do the work, you'll find it comes naturally. When your in a fight with someone, it's like your not yourself. You are like in the third-person, watching what is happening. You learn to watch what your opponent is doing, so you can react accordingly, and avoid being pierced." He laughed uneasily, noticing Will's expression, "Never mind... let's just carry on, eh?"  
  
Will returned with an enthusiastic nod, raising the sword again, casting down a glance to check his footing. "I'm going to get it right this time," he said with a determined narrow of his light hazel eyes.  
  
"Ready? Now!"  
  
Two hours later, and Will stood panting. "Just... once... more," He gasped out, hardly able to raise the sword. "Please."  
  
Greg let out a laugh, and grinned, "You're going to fall over if you do any more. Four hours is a little much isn't it? You'll wear yourself out, and then what use will you be? Can't be having you falling asleep on watch now can we?" He tugged the sword from Will's grasp, "Tomorrow we'll practice again."  
  
Will brushed sweat soaked curls from his forehead, his heart still pounding. "Tomorrow," he repeated, confirming it in his own mind. He watched Greg place the swords carefully in their case. Folding the material over the top, and brushing it taught with his strong weathered hands, ritual like in his choreographed movements. The lid was snapped shut with a muffled clunk.  
  
"Now how does some food sound? I'm starving. Just about time for dinner," Greg added, casting an eye at the round window, noting the growing darkness. He rose from the floor with the sealed box under his right arm. "I'll just put this back, then we'll go to find the Captain."  
  
"We're eating with the Captain?" Will questioned.  
  
"Of course, this is half my ship after all, so I get certain privileges. This happens to be one of them," Greg dropped the case gently into the drawer, and closed it with a light thump. He stretched up to his full height, supporting his back with one hand. "Now then, off we go."  
  
They left the cabin, Will's bare feet pattering lightly on the boards alongside the loud thumps from Greg's big tan-leather boots. Will looked up at his new friend, and with slight uncertainly and questioned, "Greg?"  
  
"Yes Lad?" He glanced down at him, still walking.  
  
"I do not question your privileges, but are you not exaggerating mine?" Will carefully chose his words, walking quickly to keep up with the elder's strides.  
  
"Yes, but that would be my decision now, wouldn't it." He smiled warmly at Will, resting his hand on the handle of the door the two had just reached. "Don't you worry, there will be plenty of time for you to mingle with the crew." Greg opened the door, and stepped inside, attention turning to the captain, "Good Evening!"  
  
Will stepped inside after Greg, instantly feeling out of place in the well- dressed room. The room had no slack on the decoration of full velvet curtains, mahogany table and benches. Bees-wax candles sat in iron holders on the set table. All the sparkling trinkets and ornaments moved and jingled around with the gentle rocking of the ship. Will noted with a sinking heart the table was only laid for two. Greg must have noticed at the same moment, because then he said, "You're missing a plate John."  
  
The captain looked up from the book that was sat in his lap, and rose from the padded seat in the corner, "What did I tell you, he is..."  
  
"...My responsibility. Yes, I know. Thus is why he will need to be under my watch from dawn till dusk. Naturally brother, he must dine with me also," said Greg smugly, casting a smile back at Will, who cowered behind in his shadow.  
  
The young captain rolled his eyes, "If you really must, I don't have time to argue." He shook his head, marking the page in his book by folding down the corner of the yellow page. He snapped it shut, and placed it on the chair. Three of the crew then entered through the same door, pushing Will to one side as they barged through with bread, wine and steaming salted meat. Each of the pewter dishes was placed roughly on the table, little care taken as to the layout. As they were leaving, Greg caught the last on the arm, "Bring another plate and fork, if you would be so kind." The man did not look overjoyed at the aspect of another job being thrust his way, but nodded, leaving without complaint.  
  
Greg motioned to the table, "Come now, and sit down. We'll begin as soon as Roberts returns with your plate."  
  
Will nodded and obediently sat on the corner of the nearest bench. Greg lowered himself beside him, and the captain opposite. Will wrung his hands in his lap uneasily as the captain stared across at him, unblinking eyes harsh, narrowed and unforgiving. He looked down and inspected his bare feet under the table, not wanting to hold the eye-contact with the man. Greg picked up his fork and absent-mindedly twiddled it through his fingers, opening his mouth to say something, before shutting it again on a second thought. The silence was only broken by the rhythmic sloshing of waves against the sides of the ship. Greg cleared his throat, and spoke to his brother, "So, how's everything on deck?" 'Stupid question', he realized as soon as he said it, noticing the strange look Captain Taro returned.  
  
"As usual... went a bit too far west yesterday, last time I get Thompson to watch the wheel. Idiot can't even keep an eye on the compass. I told you that fool would do a shabby job, but you wouldn't have it, oh no, always know best, don't ya Greg?" criticized the elder brother, not passing up a chance of a confrontation.  
  
Greg did not take the bait, but stood his ground, smiling falsely across the table, "We all make mistakes John."  
  
"...And some more then others," he replied bitterly under his breath.  
  
Greg simply shook his head, and looked down at the scarred table-top. The door swung open with a slight creak, and Roberts shuffled in, his wooden- soled boots slicing the tensioned silence. The big man leant over Will to set the place before him with little care, or courtesy of personal space. Will managed a mumble of thanks as the man turned to leave the room.  
  
"Finally," heaved the captain, "If you would Greg..."  
  
Greg nodded, bringing his hands together, and bowing his head. Will followed suit, and could not help wondering if the lord would punish them for not going to church whilst in the middle of the ocean. Greg drew in a breath, and recited solemnly, "Through the prayers of our holy fathers, O Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on us. Amen." He was joined by the others upon the last word. Greg unclasped his hands without delay, and said brightly, "At last, food!" He picked up the serving spoon, and helped himself to some carrots.  
  
Will slowly raised his head, and reviewed the table in front of them, so much choice! He leaned forward and pilfered from the platter in the middle a slice of steaming meat. Will was determined to try everything on the table, and piled his plate with a spoonful of each, topping the whole thing off with a lump of crusty bread. He hesitated a moment, his fork hovering over the mass. Greg glanced over, "Hungry lad?" He questioned with mock sincerity.  
  
Will blushed slightly, looking up, "Um... yes, quite."  
  
Greg laughed lightly, before turning his attention to his bread, which onto he spread a thin layer of yellow butter.  
  
Will began to shovel steadily through the mass, appreciating each delicious mouthful. He was content to listen in on the conversation, and in honestly, was afraid that if he did open his mouth he would receive a lecture from his Captain. Will was well brought up, and his mother had not slacked in teaching him good manners, he would speak when spoken to, so he was forced by second nature to keep quiet throughout the whole meal.  
  
Half an hour after they started, the captain lent back with a look like the cat that got the cream. Greg noticed, and saw this as a sign, glancing then over at Will's now empty plate, "Now, if you don't mind, we'll excuse ourselves. I have things to attend to," he addressed John.  
  
"Yes, yes, go ahead."  
  
Greg grinned and stood up, beckoning for Will to follow, he stooped down and muttered to Will, "It's best we leave before he realizes, there's no one in line for night-watch, we don't want to be stuck with that tonight, it's gonna rain." They hurried from the room, and out into the corridor. "Phew, thought I was going to have ta..."  
  
"Oy Greg!" The husky voice called from inside, "Can ya do night-watch?"  
  
Greg mouthed, "Damm" and gritted his teeth, "Pleasure." 


	6. Char and flame

Author's Note: I am so sorry! Please forgive me *gives everyone a cookie* I'm a bad, bad author, hang me for not updating, no...on second thought, don't. I don't know where the time goes, I'm not even busy and I'm running out *sigh* Oh well. I was on a complete creative mind jam... they should make a cure for that, in a tablet or something... I'm unable to work on this at school now for two reasons, a) We have been kicked out of the computer room, because it's a health hazard (*grumble*) b) My best friend Nat and I are doing a potc parody in our free time. It's gunna be a play, and 10 of us are going to perform it at our Halloween party in October (I'm obsessed Halloween, so naturally It's already planned) I get to be Jack! Now, I'm going off topic, so on with the story...  
  
Chapter 6: Char and flame  
  
"What do we do with a drunken sailor, Early in the mornin'," Greg sang glumly as the two of them huddled close together in the crows nest. The rain whipped heavily in their faces, and both were already drenched through. Will couldn't see anything through the sheet of water that tipped down on heir heads, and he squinted against the fresh water that dripped in his eyes. It was impossible to make out the line between sky and sea, never mind any approaching problems.  
  
"This is ridiculous," Greg said at last, shouting over the noise, throwing his arms up in defeat.  
  
Will nodded and yelled, "I can't see anything! It's pointless."  
  
"Come on lad," Greg called, "Lets go down. But go careful." He helped Will over the side, and let him get a firm hold on the slippery ropes before letting go of the scruff of the boy's shirt. Will bit his bottom lip, and very slowly, clambered down the hazardous cobweb of rigging. His soaked clothes weighed him down, making it harder still to hold himself against the mean clenching hands of gravity, meaning to drag him crashing down to the deck and his certain untimely death.  
  
When solid wood, smooth and flooded could be felt beneath his bare toes, Will couldn't help sigh with relief. 'That' He thought shakily 'Was the most horrible thing I have ever been made to do.' His heart still throbbed heard in his chest, and he shivered, partly from the cold, partly from the horrible fear that had overtaken him only a moment before. Greg was quickly following, skillfully descending with quick gauged movements that Will watched with awe.  
  
Greg had hardly put a foot on the deck when a huge crack of thunder hollered around them. The sound was quickly followed by a giant orange dagger of fork-lightning, both beautiful and too close for comfort, like a tiger loose at the zoo. The whole deck was lit for a moment, bright as a million candles, swiftly blown out with one gigantic breath. "Bloody hell..." Greg muttered, "This is not good.. no no no. God, I can't get us out of this... the sails won't hold in this wind. What am I going to do!?" He waved his arms, bobbing up and down anxiously. Will looked up at the sky, the scorched electric taste in his mouth, bitter and filthy. For a moment, all was still, and Greg looked up biting his bottom lip, pleading under his breath. In a simultaneous stampede the enraged thunder snarled, lightning revealing the sky in a tremendous burst of amber shadow. Too close. A creak of cracking wood ripped through the air as the main topmast collapsed above them, flames licking at the sail. Will instinctively braced himself, cowering under his arms, not that it would have done much good. Greg yelped and picked up Will swiftly under his arm, he run out from the target path of the threatening weight. Just one rope braced the mass of wood and burning fabric to the main mast, it swung in the gale, like an orange kite. "Quick!" Greg yelled, alarming Will in the confusion, "Ring the bell! Get the rest of em up here!" Greg gestured urgently to the giant bell, silhouetted against the angry sky, "Now boy!"  
  
Will could hardly feel his feet pounding the wooden boards and slipping on the sodden wood. He skidded, and only half on his feet. Made a frantic grab at the thick dripping wet rope attached to the great brass bell. He tugged it hard, it rang clear and booming, the warning pounding in his ears above the deafening downpour.  
  
It did not take long for the crew, dragged grumbling from their hammocks, to arrive on deck. The men were left quite helpless until the fire was down to smoking embers. Luckily, with the help of the torrential rain, the flames soon perished, allowing the men to begin. It took a good three hours for the crew to clamber the slippery rigging, cut the correct ropes and lower the great smoldering log and sheet gently onto the deck with a loud thump. Will was quite exhausted by the end of it, and was appreciative of his hammock when he was given leave at a god-forsaken time of the morning.  
  
He snuggled down happily into his bed just as dawn was approaching on the pink horizon, and clutched his precious treasure between wearing fingers. "See dad..." he muttered, smiling, "The first of my adventures, and I survived to tell the tale. I know there will be many to follow, and I'll tell you them all. I will find you soon, and you'll love me again, we'll sail the seven seas together. I can't wait." He pressed the medallion between his palms, scull denting his skin. With spellbinding pattern in his mind, he drifted off to sleep. He dreamt of beautiful ships with billowing sails, of crystal turquoise waters and bright blue, cloudless skies and of treasures beyond any widest dreams. He dreamt of his father, and his long forgotten stories of the sea.  
  
When he awoke, in an unusually good mood for so early in the morning and swung his feet onto the boards, standing and stretching. He couldn't help but smile as he dressed, remembering the pleasant dreams, still vivid in his mind's eye. He was last to wake however, and so did not have time to linger long in his thoughts. Will scurried from the room to arrive on deck.  
  
The charred lump of drenched fabric and wood still lay in a untidy huddle in the center of the deck. A few stray wisps of smoldered sail fluttered around on the deck, and the sun pounded on the ship, warming their backs and drying the timbers. The craftsman was busy sawing a hunk of oak for a makeshift topmast, and Greg stood alongside. The man muttered something to Greg, and he nodded in reply, shaking his head in mixed disappointment and aggravation. He turned, and with heavy, angered stomps, made his way to the captain, not far from Will. "She'll have to do without till we get to port," Greg called with a sigh.  
  
The captain turned and scowled, "Another three days I make it, at very least. Could even be a week if the weather keeps up, the air's so still the sails are almost slack, and with that one amiss it will be all the slower." His shoulders slouched, and he huffed, one hand on hip. Greg turned and stalked off in the other direction, his coat flying behind him. Captain Taro noticed Will looming at the top of the stairs, and his eyes flashed "What are you doing standing there like a bloody lemon, get to work!"  
  
Will jumped and looked wildly around, then stuttered "Yes sir!" he hastily dashed after Greg.  
  
Will jogged to catch up with Greg's doubled in length strides, and was out of breath by the time he drew level with him. "Good Morning!" He said when Greg did not notice him there. Greg stopped and looked down at the boy, his brow furrowed. His young face seemed older then normal in the absence of his usual smile. "Listen Will, I'm busy, just go amuse yourself with something," he said after a moment, moving to turn.  
  
Will felt a sinking feeling, his good mood instantly fluctuated. "Isn't there anything I can do to help?" he asked warily, a little hurt.  
  
"No." Was the flat reply, "Go back to my room, stay out of the way, and don't do anything stupid." He brushed a sandy strand of hair behind his ear, and marched away, leaving Will alone, and a little bewildered. Depressed, Will hunched his shoulders and tramped back along the deck, and down the timber steps.  
  
"May as well get in some sword practice," he mumbled, the prospect nowhere near as anticipating then if he had someone to practice with. He dragged his feet back to the simple room, and looked around glumly at the arrangement of boring furniture. Will scowled, anger now replacing his disappointment. Greg had annoyed him, brushing him off before, and after Will had tried so hard to help the previous night. He resisted the urge to throw something likely to smash, and instead stalked over to the heavy dresser against the wall. With a scraping noise of wood rubbing, he managed to tug the gigantic drawer open just enough to allow him to get at the leather case. This proved very difficult to remove. It was heavy, and the inappropriate tarnished handles slipped under his fingers. After five minuets of failing attempts he went at it from the side, but hardly lifted the box a couple of inches when the clasp caught on the drawer and the whole thing fell with a thump and a distant clatter. Will crumpled on the floor beside it and clenched his muscles with frustration. Was everything against him today?  
  
It occurred to him, not but quarter of an hour later, he could just open the box lid without actually taking it out of the drawer. Sighing at his stupidity, he pulled out one of the gleaming blades, and clenched it, just like Greg showed him, in his right hand.  
  
A further two hours of practice followed, till there was a light rapping on the door. 


End file.
